Midnight Gambit
by Melarith
Summary: Follow the exploits of Jaeron as he bolsters his wealth and status through thievery and deception. "The sound slowly died out, until it could be heard no longer. Jaeron was grateful that the guards wore their heavy plate-mail armor even during nights. It made their location distinctly easier to guess in the dark."
1. Ch 1: Midnight Gambit

Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.

Jaeron held his breath, his back pressed tightly against the cold stone of one of the many marble pillars that decorated the vast hall.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

The sound slowly died out, until it could be heard no longer. Jaeron was grateful that the guards wore their heavy plate-mail armor even during nights. It made their location distinctly easier to guess in the dark. He allowed himself to breathe for the first time in what felt like hours as he slowly distanced himself from the pillar with careful movements. He swung his head back and forth in erratic, jerky motions - looking around the vast hall. His jaw dropped.

He knew that Stormwind was an architectural marvel, but nothing could have prepared him for the richly detailed murals that decorated the excessively high ceiling, the incredible sharpness of the marble pillars that dotted the room, with the lavish and intricate patterns that covered them.

He shook his head. There wasn't any time to dawdle. The guard would return on his patrol any second, and then he'd have to reacquaint himself with one of the marble pillars for an hour again. He made his way towards one of the walls with light, elegant footsteps. His tight-fitted leather armor - black as the night that surrounded him - allowed him a great degree of silence and freedom of movement.

There it was - hanging on the wall, decorated with a frame of solid gold. He wondered absently in the back of his head why there weren't any torches anywhere in the room. It was beautiful. A master piece, he had been told. The elegance, the subtle grace of the brush strokes, the way the artist had distorted the landscape and given it excessive proportions, but still managed to retain its sense of realism. It was a painting depicting Turalyon in extravagant colors and meticulous attention to detail.

Zzzzzzzzzt!

His dagger flew along the inside of the frame with great haste. Jaeron was eager to claim his prize.

Zzzzzzzzzt!

He rolled up the painting and filed it away in the bag that hung over his shoulder - specially made by an associate of his for this night alone. He'd done it, he'd stolen from the royal Stormwind gallery, and- Wait. Where were all the guards? And where have all the torches gone? There are sconces for them. They must have removed them. But why?

He didn't get much farther than that in his musings before he was interrupted by the deafening sound of a colossal bell ringing.

Clank-clank-clank-clank-clank.

Guardsmen rushed into the gallery, swords drawn. In their other hand they held a torch each. Oh. So that's where they went.

"Don't move a muscle, scum!"

To his right, there were guards. To his left, more guards. Guards everywhere. At least a dozen of them. And more would come soon enough. He took a deep breath, occasionally jumping up and down - stretching his legs.

"Can't we talk about this?"

Before the guards could respond with another generic threat, Jaeron burst into a sprint. He leapt into the air long before he reached any of the guardsmen - and landed half a feet in front of an understandably confused one. Jaeron fell to the ground and skidded along the stone cold floor, in between the legs of his to-be pursuer. He jumped back onto his feet and ran. He didn't very much care where. He'd solve that eventually. Exit was probably blocked by now.

"Stop 'im!"

The sound of the alarm bells were deafening - he could barely hear himself think. Not that he was doing an awful lot of it - he was occupied with running. In front of him a guardsman was heading towards the throne room at a leisurely pace, as if completely oblivious of the alarm that had rung, and the sound of several angry guardsmen running through the vast corridor. Jaeron rushed up to the guardsman and grabbed his shoulders. Just as the guardsman reacted, Jaeron used his adversary's shoulders to somersault over him in an impressive display of agility. And then Jaeron continued running as the confused guardsman joined the rest of his colleagues in the chase.

He dived to the side, into one of the many rooms that lined the corridor. A bedchamber. Dead-end. Cul-de-sac. No-go. He rushed out of the room and continued down the corridor. His pursuers weren't very fast, but Jaeron's mistake had allowed them to close the distance. They could almost reach him with their swords if they tried.

After several minutes - or seconds, he wasn't entirely sure, he reached the colossal wooden doors that marked the entrance to the throne room.

"He's got nowhere to run now no more!" one of the guards shouted tentatively, audibly exhausted. Jaeron disagreed, and started scaling the door, and only occasionally did he make mistakes that threatened to send him flying down to his pursuers. The guards had reached him now. Well, almost. They stood directly beneath the door, and they had sent one of their men to the armory to fetch a bow and arrow, and had now busied themselves with shouting inane insults and threats up at the thief that dangled from the massive doors.

While the guardsmen were occupied with trying to be intimidating, Jaeron launched himself backwards, grabbed one of the chandeliers that hung from the massive ceiling and swung himself forward - crashing down towards the hard stonework floor.

Crash!

He stumbled back onto uncertain feet and burst into another room, the guardsmen following him in tow. It was the royal garden. Good. Without hesitation, Jaeron made his way towards the center, where the Guardians of Cenarius has prepared a portal to Hyjal for benevolent adventurers and warriors who wished to help. Jaeron wasn't an adventurer, and we wasn't very benevolent, and he certainly had no interest in helping anyone, but it'd have to do. He threw himself into the portal before his pursuers had managed to make their way into the gardens.

"I should have chosen the Stockades." he mumbled in resignation, falling to his knees on the other side of the portal.


	2. Ch 2: The Mirror

_"Worse things have happened."_ Jaeron told himself as he climbed back onto uncertain feet.  
_He hated portals. Hated them.  
_Behind him the less-than-stable portal unleashed a bolt of lightning with alarming intent where Jaeron stood.  
_"Sorry." _Jaeron said absent-mindedly. The portal returned to its brooding sizzling in response to his apology.

Jaeron scanned his surroundings. He was in the middle ofa forest. He sighed with a mix of resignation, excitement, and that strange mix of apprehension and terror you only really experience when there's a giant, fiery turtle in front of you-  
Wait. Jaeron stopped dead in his train of thought and put it in reverse...

... There was a giant, fiery turtle in front of him. Twenty feet tall, at least. Its shell was soot black and riddled with craters. From the center, magma oozed out.

Jaeron blinked.

_"Oh look! The whole forest is on fire too!"_  
Then the realization that his personal space was being invaded by the snout of an enormous turtle - that was also on fire - struck him like a wall of bricks.

"_The Twilight's Hammer at advancing with alarming speed, Milord."_

_"What of Crow?"_ the Skylord demanded brusquely, almost cutting the human squire that spoke to him off mid-sentence.  
He despised the humans, but the squire's presence was necessary to maintain the alliance with his kin. He could not deny their usefulness. _"And it is Skylord. Not 'Milord'. You will address me properly as long as you stand in our territory."_  
_"Of course, Mil- Skylord. As for Crow's unit, I fear the worst."_  
Silence consumed the small room for a moment, until it was crushed under Skylord Omnuron' metaphorical boot.  
_"If I am certain of anything, squire, it is that the Night Elven army would not be where it is today if it were to be subject to your fears. I will arrange for a Talon to scout ahead. Aerandir, prepare a unit of your best men immediately. The squire will accompany you."_  
A Night Elf clad in what could generously be described as a robe offered the Skylord a disciplined bow before walking out of the room with calm strides.  
The squire, Calrathor, was occupied processing the words he had just heard. _Out there? Into the battlefield? He barely knew how to wield his own battle-hammer (which, by the way, he had always thought to be comically oversized)._

Outside, the courtyard was abuzz with Night Elves scurrying back and forth, preparing for Aerandir and his unit's departure. Aerandir himself was engaged in discussion with one of the druids of the Talon. The druids were perhaps the greatest advantage that the Night Elves had against the Twilight's Hammer; mages, but not in the traditional sense - they drew upon the forces of Nature - not the Great Beyond, for their power. This intimate connection with nature not only allowed the experienced druid to command the verdant surroundings around them, but they could even turn into animals at their whim. The druids of the Talon were perhaps the most reclusive of them all; they were trained in reconnaissance and in the form of majestic eagles they cruised through the clouds, retrieving information on the Night Elves' behest.

Calrathor stumbled out into the courtyard. He felt nauseous, and the weight of the platemail armor he wore was proving a considerable obstacle.  
_"I expect we will return by nightfall, Aerandir." _It was Morthis, the Talon chosen to scout the area ahead.  
_"Good. Return with all the information you can in regards to the Twilight's."_ Aerandir demanded coldly, his head craning forward dangerously.  
_"With all due respect, I was informed that Crow and his unit was our priority."_ the druid replied coyly, regarding the elf before him inquisitively.  
Aerandir's muscles tensed, and he took another stride towards his conversation partner, positioning himself uncomfortably close to the druid. _"It is not."_ he said behind clenched teeth, his glare boring into Morthis.

Calrathor's attention turned to the barricaded exit from the natural valley they were situated in. Elven rangers and swordsmen stood poised to strike at a moment's notice as soon as something evil, or just generally unpleasant looking made it into sight. His gaze fell backwards, to the headquarters where he had previously stood. It was a large tree whose insides served as lodging for the upper echelons of the Night Elven army situated in the valley. The tree looked as if it had grown rooms, balconies, and alcoves naturally - there was no trace of carving inside of it. Elves and their nature magic.

_"Squire!"_

It was Aerandir, the Skylord's pet; second in charge. A colossal specimen of a man- er, elf. He stood eight feet tall, and his muscular frame was barely covered by a robe sown out of leaves and vines, only with the occasional patch of cloth. Calrathor, on the other hand, was sweating profusely under his heavy platemail armor which had, by the way, begun to rust in only a few days because of the humid air. He wasn't particularly keen on removing it, though.

_"Yes, sir? Are we ready to go, sir?"_

Jaeron was running again. He had been doing an awful lot of it lately. Of course, he hadn't tried running away from a turtle before. That was new. Jaeron, being a thief, was a very experienced runner, and made his way across the burning glade at an impressive speed. The turtle meanwhile, being a turtle, moved discreningly slow, though its spectacular size meant that a single stride on its part translated into a dozen of Jaeron's. The ground was trembling and quaking in response to every step made by the turtle whom, for the sake of reference, Jaeron had elected to name 'Timothy'.

Jaeron was, as was often the case, running. Around him, burning trees fell to the ground in response to the violent tremors that his pursuer caused. He leapt over a burning log in front of him with no regard for the consequence, dashed around a particularly large hill to break his pursuer's line of sight. He looked around, in desperate search for a hiding place. Burning trees, rocks, burning trees, burning trees, a ditch, burning trees- A ditch!

Jaeron tilted his head to the side, eyeing the unassuming dent in the ground sceptically. It'd have to do. Without a second thought, he launched himself into the hole, and stayed there in perfect silence, praying to all the Gods he could think of, and to some invented by himself for this occasion.

_Boom! Boom! Boom!_

Pebbles bounced up and down on the ground in response to every stride-inflicted tremor, growing successively in intensity until it was evident that his pursuer could only be a few feet away.

Silence.

... And then it was broken by an ear-shattering roar, followed close behind by the ground shaking at regular intervals, slowly becoming weaker and weaker, until they could barely be felt.

Jaeron allowed himself to breathe once more as he climbed out of the ditch and brushed some dirt off his black leather pants.


	3. Ch 3: Another one enters the fray

_"No sign of Crow or his men anywhere, sir. Members of the Twilight's Hammer are marching towards a large cave system to the east, however. If Crow and his unit still lives, they'll be in that cave." _Morthis offered Aerandir a venerable bow as he delivered the news.  
Aerandir remained fixed in his position, absent-mindedly stroking his goatee, evidently locked in thought. _"Men!"_ he roared after several moments of silence. A dozen warriors grouped up in front of him with off-handed salutes. _"I expect you have this cave system marked on my map, Morthis."_ he said coldly, not offering the druid as much as a glance - he was occupied inspecting the men he would be leading into enemy territory._ "Of course, I expect reaching the cave will not be troublesome. Doing in undetected, on the other ha-" _  
_"Spare me, Morthis. I do not need you questioning my judgment and capability at every turn."  
"Of course. I will report to the Skylord immediately." _  
Aerandir craned his head forward dangerously, gauging the sharpness of one of his warrior's halberd with his thumb. _"Indeed."_

-

_"The Night Elves are cornered, my lord. They have made refuge in one of Ogre caves." _  
Twilight Lord Everun, a large, imposing human, regarded the lowly cultist groveling in front of his throne like an animal, with disdain.  
_"And the Ogres did not object?"_ he sneered venomously.  
_"They did not live long enough to form an opinion, my lord."_ the humble servant said, his gaze locked on the ground beneath him.  
Everun perked a brow, inquisitively inspecting the underling kneeled infront of him._ "Is that glibness, Lae'rieh?" _  
The cultist's eyes shot wide open, and his gaze met that of Everun for the first time in their brief encounter. _"No! Not at all, my lord! Forgive me!"_ he cried, or well, he would have, if he hadn't disintegrated into a pile of ash mid-sentence.  
_"Prepare the vanguard."_ the Twilight Lord said casually, rising from his throne and arching his back. One of his two guards standing by the his side considered suggesting simply starving them out, as they had nowhere to run, but he knew better than to object. _"Yes, my lord."_

-

_"We're going to die in here, aren't we? We're doomed!" _  
_"Yes."_ Anthaelon Crow regarded the whimpering warrior in front of him. Only moments earlier he had been his greatest asset, his stoutest warrior. _"Yes we are."_

_"I-.."_ the warrior fell silent as the sound of battle cries echoed into the cave from outside.  
_"Come then, warriors of the Kaldorei people - Night elves! Let us talk."_ the Twilight Lord roared. He stood boldly in front of the cave entrance, clad in elegant robes woven out of spider's silk, as was the ritualistic custom. From his waistband skulls, severed hands, and other hideous trinkets hung, attached by a coarse linen thread. He held a large gem-encrusted, tar-black staff firmly in his grip. His face was adorned with a cruel smile.  
An arrow was released from the pitch black darkness of the cave, heading directly for the Twilight Lord. Everun flicked his wrist dismissively, and the arrow halted mid-flight, levitating helplessly in the air inches away from its target - Everun's head.

Behind the Twilight Lord stood a battalion of his best men; several dozens, armed with large, wicked halberds or wielding spheres of Arcane or elemental magic in their palms, preparing for any sign of hostility. Everun was laughing, as crazy people often do. He cast an off-handed glance at the pile of ash by his feet that had only moments earlier been an arrow. He raised his arm intently, preparing to lead a charge into the caves, but he was interrupted as a single Night elf strode out of the darkness. He wore a set of leather armor, covered in exuberant and intricate carvings, and in his hand he held a large curved blade for a brief moment, before dropping it to the ground in resignation.  
_"Do you have a name?"_ the Twilight Lord inquired causally, his calm tones carried through the glade as if furthered by magic, which is probably was, all things considered.  
The Night elf cast his gaze downwards, staring at his feet. _"Anthaelon."_ he replied dejectedly, his spirit broken.  
_"Anthaelon! A pleasure to meet face to face at last. I have heard of you. I must say, your efforts at the Shrine of Goldrinn were very impressive!"_ the Twilight Lord scoffed mockingly as two warriors approached the man to escort him towards Everun, who had a hand extended towards the approaching prisoner of war. Once Anthaelon stood directly in front of him, he placed his open palm on his shoulder. _"Kill the rest."_ he said indifferently as he disappeared in a cloud of Arcane dust together with Anthaelon before the Night elf could begin to protest.


End file.
